Marc P. Robinson

I want to be free; to escape. I use my pen as oars; the paper as my boat. I fill these pages to keep me afloat. I ride the waves of turmoil, so I can paddle away to calmer seas.

It’s not the adversity, but how you face it.

My love for you was like a poem I wrote; one that I disregarded as average. Torn out, thrown away to the rubbish heap, waiting; wishing to be picked up and appreciated by someone else, for the masterpiece that it is.

I have never had trouble to love others, but loving myself was difficult. For years I didn’t like myself, so how could I love myself. It has taken time, and still there is a way to go, but I can say, not only do I like myself, but also care about myself enough to start loving myself too.

Every time I think I have reached the peak, I look up and see I still have a ways to go. But I look back and see just how far I have come.

Your dreams may have shattered, but that doesn’t mean they are over. They can still be turned into a mosaic of success.

If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.

Do what we can, summer will have its flies.

Very often, say what you will, a knave is only a fool.

Nature… She pardons no mistakes. Her yea is yea, and her nay, nay.

A man of my spiritual intensity does not eat corpses.

We do what we must, and call it by the best names.

You can never really live anyone else’s life, not even your child’s. The influence you exert is through your own life, and what you’ve become yourself.

Only one is a wanderer; two together are always going somewhere.

It is generally a feminine eye that first detects the moral deficiencies hidden under the dear deceit of beauty.

Failure at some point in your life is inevitable, but giving up is unforgivable.

He that lives to forever, never fears dying.

To think is to practice brain chemistry.

One merit of poetry few persons will deny: it says more and in fewer words than prose.

At the bottom of all the tributes paid to democracy is the little man walking into the little booth with a little pencil, making a little cross on a little bit of paper. No amount of rhetoric or voluminous discussion can possibly diminish the overwhelming importance of that point.

The finest workers in stone are not copper or steel tools, but the gentle touches of air and water working at their leisure with a liberal allowance of time.